


Cat and Mouse and Snake

by ShortForPhill



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: AU, Abuse, Gaslighting, M/M, i try to explain metal gear, in which i ruin kaz's life even further, kaz's wife is a bamf, mother base zoo, ocelot can't decide whether he wants to kill kaz or fuck him, ocelot is a creep, ocelot is a jealous bitch, pequod is a ray of sunshine, the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:03:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7152707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShortForPhill/pseuds/ShortForPhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suppose Kaz was separated from Snake in the attack on MSF and presumed dead?<br/>Nine years later, a chance rescue brings reunites the two on the brand new Mother Base.<br/>Of course, there's a third member of Mother Base's leadership, and Ocelot is not so sure how he feels about Big Boss' s old partner...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

“We brought something back from our mission, sir.” Ocelot looks up from his desk.  
“It was just a recon mission.”  
“Yes, sir,” the soldier replies.  
“What did you bring back?”  
“It’s waiting for you in Room 101.” Ocelot can’t help the faint smile that crosses his features. There’s nothing better than a good interrogation. He schools his expression, all business once more.  
“Alright, soldier tell me what you know so far.”  
“He was being held prisoner on the base. From what we were able to gather, it seems he was training mujahedeen forces in the region.”  
“Who approved his extraction?”  
“Big Boss.”  
“Can’t argue with that.” Ocelot intends to do just that, but that’s between him and the Boss. “Anything else?”  
“We got some of his personal things off of one of the guards.”  
“Excellent. I’ll take a look at those first.”  
“He’s in bad shape, sir. He’ll need medical attention as soon as possible. We did what we could in the chopper, but …”  
“He was tortured?”  
“… Yes.” The plot thickens.

The first thing Ocelot grabs out of the meager pile of personal effects is the set of dog tags. The ID tags are stamped with the name “Benedict Miller” and nothing else. Probably CIA, given the lack of any other identifiers. There’s something familiar about the name, though. Ocelot shakes his head. “Miller” is hardly an uncommon surname. Then he picks up a pair of aviator sunglasses and that irritating notion grows stronger. The rest of the pile is useless: a pair of boots, a yellow scarf, a jacket. Ocelot huffs in disappointment upon finding nothing else that could identify the stranger. It’s time to make a few calls.

“What can you tell me about a man called Benedict Miller?”  
“I can tell you that no such person existed until about nine years ago.”  
“Nine years, huh?”  
“Nine years ago, he turned up in a hospital in South America refusing to mention anything about his past. He’s been working his way across the globe as a mercenary for the past five.”  
“Alright. Let me know if anything else turns up.”  
“When don’t I, Adam?”  
“Very funny, Eva.”

The new captive sits in the small metal chair, eyes fixed on the table in front of him. He looks up as Ocelot enters the room, shielding his eyes from the light. A glance at his pupils suggests he’s photosensitive.  
“Is this some kind of sick joke?” he asks softly.  
“If it was, you’d know, Miller,” Ocelot replies honestly as he sits down across from the man. He takes in the man’s appearance – blonde hair, blue eyes, a face that suggests Asian heritage. His right arm ends just below the shoulder. The dried blood on his shirtsleeve indicates it’s a recent loss. The rest of his injuries appear superficial, just cuts and bruises.  
“You know my name?” Miller doesn’t sound surprised. “You CIA?”  
“I could ask you the same.” Miller’s lips twitch into the barest semblance of a smile, and Ocelot can’t help but mirror the gesture.  
“You seem like a smart man, Miller. Surely you can see the sense in cooperating.”  
“What’s in it for me?” So he’s a businessman, or at least understands negotiation.  
“If we like you enough, you get a job offer.”  
“And if you don’t?’  
“That depends on you.” Miller’s remaining hand strays unconsciously to his stump as he lets out a derisive snort.  
“Anything you’d like to share with the class, Miller?”  
“No.”  
“Very well. Let’s get started.”

Ocelot stands up, not missing the way Miller flinches imperceptibly. He drags his chair across the floor, savoring the sound of metal screeching on metal. Next he drags the table across the room, leaving Miller exposed in the center.  
“Now, normally I’m not a fan of sloppy seconds, but the Boss seems to think you’re worth the effort,” he says.  
“There’s not much of me left over,” Miller replies. That’s when Ocelot notices the way that Miller’s left leg comes to an abrupt halt a few inches below his knee. So that’s why Miller hasn’t tried anything yet.  
“Not much use for me anymore, huh?” Miller rasps.  
“Your mind’s still in one piece,” Ocelot shrugs. He offers his hand. “I need to check your existing injuries,” he explains. Miller nods, reaching up to grasp Ocelot’s shoulder. He allows Ocelot to pull him into a standing position.  
“Your stance is sloppy, soldier,” Miller whispers. He throws his full body weight against Ocelot, sending them both crashing to the floor.

Miller lands on top, eyes ablaze.  
“You’re pretty good,” Ocelot admits. He does love a challenge.  
“I learned from the best,” Miller growls.  
“I doubt it,” Ocelot chuckles. “There’s no way you were one of her-“ He stops, a thought crossing his mind. He reverses their positions and pins Miller down. Easy enough when the man is still getting used to his missing limbs. He uses one hand to pin down Miller’s arm and rests the other on his throat.  
“Go ahead,” Miller spits. “Impress me.” Ocelot would’ve laughed if he wasn’t currently possessed by an idea so absurd that it almost had to be true.  
“You survived the attack on MSF?” It’s not a question. Miller’s eyes widen just enough to confirm Ocelot’s theory.  
“What do you want from me?”  
“You could start with your real name.”

That’s when the call comes through the radio.  
“Mother Base, come in…” Ocelot scrambles to his feet, out of Miller’s reach.  
“This is Mother Base,” he answers the call. “What do you need, Boss?”  
“Need a supply drop. Sending you the details.”  
“Alright, Boss. We’ll make it happen.” He glances at Miller, who appears to have gone catatonic, then slips out of Room 101 to make sure the supply team has everything. And to make another call.

“What is it now?”  
“I found MSF’s XO.”  
“Wait, what?”  
“Kazuhira Miller is alive, and I have him here on Mother Base.”  
“Who’s idea was that?”  
“V. He doesn’t know it’s Miller – just that he approved the extraction of a prisoner from a Soviet base.”  
“This could throw a wrench into things if V doesn’t pass Miller’s scrutiny.”  
“I know. Why else would I be telling you?”  
“Adam…”  
“Yes?”  
“We have to tell John.”

“He’ll believe it,” John insists.  
“What makes you so sure?”  
“He doesn’t have much choice.”  
“Boss, why not include him in the plan from the start?”  
“He’s been off our radar for ten years. Who knows how he’s changed.” I could say the same for you, Ocelot doesn’t say.  
“Very well,” he does say. 

Ocelot enters Room 101, this time on the other side of the one-way glass. In light of John’s permission to pull as much information from Miller as possible, he wants to take a moment to formulate his strategy. Whoever dismembered Miller were amateurs. He watches Miller drag himself up onto his knees and shakes his head. He sets up the tape recorder, determined to give John a show worth listening to.  
Miller looks up from where he kneels in the center of the room and stares at the mirror as if he knows that he’s being watched. What could possibly be running through his mind? He lets out an earsplitting scream, pouring out nine years of anger and desperation in one agonizing sound.  
“You hear that, John?” Ocelot murmurs. “I think he missed you.” He watches with interest as Miller composes himself, vulnerable expression replaced with one of steel. This is going to be fun.

Miller’s very pointed lack of reaction as Ocelot steps out of the sound booth serves as reaction enough.  
“You ready to play nice?” Ocelot asks. Silence. Of course. He seizes Miller by the hair and forces his head back. “I promise you, whatever they did to you, I can do much worse.” Miller’s shallow breathing is his only response. Ocelot leans in close, savoring Miller’s discomfort. “Give me what I want, Kazuhira Miller, and maybe I won’t take the rest of your limbs.” Miller’s breath stops short at the sound of his given name.  
“Don’t call me that,” he says quietly.  
“What’s the matter, Kaz?” Ocelot draws out the name, testing the sound of it.  
“Don’t –“ Miller wrenches himself free with a snarl. He attempts to lash out, but Ocelot grabs his arm and twists it until he hears the shoulder pop. It’s hardly a severe injury. But it’s effective, seeing as Miller can no longer fix it himself. His stump twitches impotently, and for a moment, Ocelot can see a phantom limb reaching out. There’s a flash of rage in Miller’s eyes.  
“You bastard,” he growls.  
“Need a hand?” Ocelot smirks. He pops Miller’s shoulder back into place.  
“That pun was atrocious,” Miller quips, despite sounding out of breath.  
“Well I hope you’re not in too much pain. We’re just getting started.”

“There’s nothing you can do to me that hasn’t already been done,” Miller declares.  
“We’ll see about that.” Ocelot’s radio crackles to life again.  
“Sending some recruits your way,” the voice on the radio says, and Miller lets out a small choked sound that’s nearly lost in the static.  
“Copy that, Boss,” Ocelot replies. He glances at Miller, who seems entranced by the radio.  
“That voice…” Miller mumbles to himself before shaking his head. “… must’ve fucked up my hearing too.” So his eyes were damaged in captivity. That’s one question answered, even if it is irrelevant. Ocelot takes advantage of Miller’s distracted state to inject him with truth serum.  
“That won’t work on me.”  
“What makes you so sure.” There’s an uncomfortable truth hidden in Miller’s answering smile.

“What do you think happened to MSF after the attack?” Ocelot prods Miller none too gently in the side with the toe of his boot. That draws a laugh from Miller, and it’s an ugly, bitter thing.  
“Dead. They’re all dead.”  
“There were survivors.”  
“Wiped out in minutes. Dead in the desert thanks to those … things.” Miller isn’t lying, but he isn’t telling the whole truth either. His resistance to the serum is impressive, if a bit annoying.  
“What did the Soviets want from you?? Why keep you alive and kill everyone else?” Ocelot asks.  
“Fuck off.”

“Normally I’d appreciate your endurance, Miller, but quality time is a luxury we can’t afford right now,” Ocelot frowns.  
“I don’t have anywhere to be,” Miller replies. A slap across the face at least wipes away his grin. That was impulsive, but there’s just something about Miller that irks him. Maybe it’s knowing his history with John. Come on, keep it professional, Ocelot chides himself. Then again, it can’t hurt to indulge every once in a while.  
Ocelot grabs Miller by the hair and drags him across the floor until he’s flat on his back. He places one booted heel on the man’s throat and presses down lightly.  
“You’re lighter than I expected,” Ocelot drawls. Miller attempts to pry Ocelot’s foot from his throat. Ocelot obliges, only to kick Miller’s unprotected stomach. Miller attempts to curl up – a difficult feat with only half his limbs. Another kick leaves him stifling a groan.  
“You’re awfully quiet.”  
“Would it make a difference if I wasn’t?” Miller coughs, wheezing for breath after another blow to his abdomen. No, it wouldn’t.

It’s clear that Miller is on the brink of physical exhaustion, but the bastard remains stubborn. He rolls onto his stomach, jaw clenched from the pain. He mutters something in … Japanese? One of the languages Ocelot doesn’t speak.  
“Speak up, Miller. Я не говорю по-японски.” Miller doesn’t speak Russian, but he definitely recognizes the sound of it.  
“You’re going easy on me. Why?” Miller spits. So he’s a bit of a masochist.  
“The Boss wants you alive. If he knew it was you he’d approved the extraction for, he’d have cut his mission short and flown right back to Mother Base.”  
“The Boss? Who…?”  
“Nice try, Miller, but I get to ask the questions here.”

“Ask away,” Miller grunts. He rolls over and sits up. “I won’t stop you.”  
“You won’t cooperate either.”  
“You know me so well.”  
“You must be tired.”  
“Why? Giving up already?”  
“Hardly.” Ocelot selects another syringe from the table.  
“More truth serum?”  
“No. Stronger truth serum.” Miller lets out a pained sound as the needle goes in.  
“What’s the point of all this?” he asks. “You’ve made it pretty clear that you know all about me.”  
“There’s a few details I’m a bit hazy on. Like why you agreed to work for the CIA, what you were really up to in Afghanistan, and why you’re not dead.” Miller’s mask slips for a moment, like he’s been asking himself that last question for the past nine years.  
“You said your boss wants me alive. Why?”  
“He’s always looking for new recruits,” Ocelot shrugs.  
“And you’re the welcome committee?”  
“You’re a bit of an exception, since he usually brings new folks in himself.”  
“And they don’t object to the sudden career change?”  
“Most people jump at the chance to work for Big Boss.”

“Big Boss is dead!” Miller shouts. His eyes seem to glow in the dark as he attacks. Ocelot regrets not spending more time on his CQC – it’s clear Miller learned a lot from John. There’s something not quite human about the way the man fights, even short a limb and a half. They’re rolling on the floor like children, and it would be embarrassing if it weren’t so impassioned.  
“Snake is dead!” Miller insists as he lands a punch squarely in Ocelot’s nose. He’s coming apart at the seams and it’s glorious. Ocelot grins.  
“You’re sick!” Miller hisses. “Taking his image, his ideas. Big Boss died and the world moved on.” He grasps Ocelot’s scarf and tugs him up so their faces are barely touching. “It’s been nine whole years and you want me to believe he just left it all behind…” Left me behind, Miller doesn’t say. He doesn’t have to.  
In that instant, Ocelot gains the upper hand. He slams Miller against the cold metal floor and pins him down. He feels a jolt of cold air, like the ghost of a hand passing through him. Miller looks like he’s trying not to cry. Pathetic.

The urge to crush Miller beneath him is strong. This is who John chose to build his dream with? What does John see in him?  
“I could break you,” he says aloud.  
“Go ahead and try,” Miller dares him softly. Ocelot draws his knife. It would be so easy. Almost too easy, he thinks as he runs the flat of blade against Miller’s neck. He leans close and takes in Miller’s scent – desperation, anger, but no fear. He makes a small cut and watches the blood trickle down Miller’s throat. It’s surprisingly intimate.

“What the hell is going on?” An unmistakable voice cuts through room.  
“Boss…” Ocelot looks up. V stands in the doorway, wreathed in light like some kind of deity, a familiar pair of aviators in hand. Miller’s savior. Ocelot quickly stows his knife and clambers off of Miller. There’s no way to justify what the phantom just walked in on.

“Snake?” Miller speaks up, not moving from his spot on the floor. “Is that really you?” Who else would it be? Well, Ocelot knows who else, but that’s not the point.  
“Kaz,” V utters the man’s name with such familiarity that it hurts. He was implanted with John’s memories, after all. Why wouldn’t he remember his partner? (His lover? John never shared those details with Ocelot – or with anyone.)  
“Snake!” Miller attempts to sit up. V is at his side in an instant. “I thought you were dead.”  
“I was in a coma.”  
“For nine years?” V’s lips curl up in the closest approximation Snake has to a smile.  
“Kept you waiting, huh?”

Snake hands Miller his aviators and the man immediately puts them on. Ocelot resists the urge to roll his eyes.  
“It’s been too long,” Miller says. The change in his voice is slight, but noticeable, like the sunglasses somehow facilitated the return of his confidence. In that moment, Miller’s devotion to Snake couldn’t be clearer. Nine years of agony just forgiven.  
“We’ll make up for lost time,” V promises, hauling Miller to his feet. “But first let’s get you to the med bay.” Miller drapes an arm around V’s shoulders as they start for the door.  
“Did you get taller?” V just shrugs, and that’s the end of it.  
“Boss,” Ocelot interjects. “Should I alert the staff?”  
“I told them on the way here,” Snake replies.  
“Welcome to Mother Base, Miller,” Ocelot offers. Miller nods, the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips. So they have an understanding. Snake is the glue holding them together. The time to settle scores will come later.


	2. Second Chances

After three days, Ocelot finally heads for the med bay. He has not been avoiding it, really. He’s just been busy. He hasn’t heard from John since he sent the interrogation tape, but he didn’t expect to. He walks in on some sort of hullabaloo, not at all surprised to find Miller at the center of it.  
“Commander, you need to rest!” some poor medic insists.  
“I can rest when I’m dead!” Miller snaps. “No, don’t! Don’t put me under again!”  
“It’s alright,” Ocelot enters the room, figuring it’s time to intervene. “I’ll watch him.” The grateful staff scurry out of the room as Miller fixes Ocelot with a glare from behind his aviators. Ocelot meets his gaze.  
“Thanks,” Miller finally mutters, breaking the stare.  
“We got off to a bad start,” Ocelot shrugs. Miller hums in agreement.  
“Like what you see?” Miller asks after a long silence. It occurs to Ocelot that he’s been staring at Miller’s bare chest.  
“Your injuries aren’t as bad as they could’ve been. You should be out of here in a few days.” Nice save.  
“Is that your professional opinion?” Miller raises an eyebrow.  
“I have some background in physiology.”  
“So I’ve heard. Taking people apart isn’t the same as putting them back together.”  
“You’d be surprised.”

“Why are you here?” Miller asks after another long silence.  
“Not a fan of talking?”  
“Thought you’d figured that out already during your interrogation.”  
“Like it or not, we’re on the same team now. You’re going to have to let that go.”  
“Says who?”  
“Snake. Take it up with him if-“  
“No. This is between us.” Miller slides off the bed, balancing unsteadily on his remaining foot. Ocelot is shorter than Miller, but that extra inch isn’t what grabs his attention. He’s more distracted by the fact that Miller is completely naked.

Miller hops - actually hops - forward, and grabs Ocelot's shoulder.   
"If you cross Snake, I will kill you," he growls.  
"I've known him longer than you-"  
"So has Zero." Miller's grip is surprisingly strong.  
"Sort yourself out first, Miller. Then you can worry about the rest of us." Miller huffs, and it's clear that he's decided this conversation is over. He reaches blindly for the edge of his bed, blatantly not asking for help. Ocelot steps forward and shoves Miller back onto the cot. Miller looks like he's ready for another fight.  
"You-" he starts. He stops, thinks better of whatever he was about to say. "Get out of my sight."  
"Get some rest," Ocelot replies. "The sooner you do, the sooner we can get started."

Ocelot returns to the med bay late at night, unsure whether he hopes Miller will be awake or asleep. He definitely did not spend all day thinking about Miller's naked body. That would be totally unprofessional. And he definitely didn't check his shoulder for the finger-shaped bruises that he knew would be there. He's got more important things to think about. So why is he here, staring at Miller's sleeping form? Miller sleeps flat on his stomach, hair mussed and mouth open, expression still somehow troubled.

Ocelot ventures forward and pokes Miller's shoulder. When the man doesn't stir, he pulls back the blankets. Miller's collection of bruises is impressive. They paint his back in brilliant shades of blue and purple, telling the story of how and when. Ocelot dares to pull the sheets lower, not quite all the way to the bandaged stump of Miller's leg. Miller shivers, but doesn't wake. A set of bruises catch Ocelot's eye - roughly the size of hands, like someone had held Miller by the hips. The bruising on his thighs completes the picture. Ocelot pulls the blankets back up, filing that information away for future use.

Miller’s breathing suddenly turns erratic, limbs twitching but still heavy with sleep.  
“Please,” he utters. Ocelot conceals himself in the darkest corner of the room, just in case Miller wakes.  
“Please don’t…” Is he crying in his sleep? Now this is interesting. Ocelot remembers Miller’s words from three days ago, about how everything thinkable had already been done to him. Which one is he remembering? He cries for a solid minute before tapering off to a whimper, then silence. Suddenly those blue eyes snap open, and Ocelot has to remind himself that Miller can’t see in the dark. Because nobody can see in the dark; that’s absurd.

“Is someone there?” Miller asks softly, hastily wiping his eyes. Oh shit.  
“It’s just me, Kaz,” V answers from where he stands in the doorway. Oh. Shit.  
“Snake.”  
“You should be sleeping.”  
“So should you.”   
“I’ve slept enough.” V shrugs. He approaches the bed, footsteps audible now that he’s not trying to be silent.  
“How long since-“  
“Since I woke up? About a month.”  
“A month…”  
“Kaz-”  
“Don’t. We’ve talked about this. Just … Stay here for a bit?”  
“Okay.” V grabs a chair and sits beside Miller, a softness in his expression rarely afforded to anyone. Maybe that’s not John, but V’s old self bleeding through. Not that it matters. What matters is that Ocelot shouldn’t be here, witnessing this moment. It’s sickeningly sweet to watch V brush the hair from Miller’s face. Moonlight glints off of something in V’s hand. A syringe. Miller’s breath hitches briefly before it evens out and his too-bright eyes finally close.  
“You can come out now, Ocelot,” V says. Fuck.

Ocelot emerges from his hiding place, not sure how he’s going to justify the second compromising position V has found him in with regards to Miller.  
“Boss…”  
“The staff mentioned he wasn’t sleeping,” V nods at Miller.  
“Boss, what you saw… It won’t happen again…”  
“I don’t care,” V cuts him off abruptly.   
“… What?”  
“Whatever is between you two is your business. Just don’t let it interfere with Diamond Dogs business.”  
“You have my word, Boss.”  
“Good. Now I need you to do something for me.”  
“What is it?”  
“We’re bringing civilians on base in a few days. I need you to make whatever arrangements are necessary to house them here.”  
“Civilians on Mother Base? But I thought you said-“  
“This is a special exception.”  
“Whatever you say, Boss.”


	3. Third Wheel

Another two days pass without incident. Miller is finally released from the med bay, and Ocelot manages to avoid asking him whether he slept well or not. As per Snake's request, Ocelot arranges for the arrival of visitors to Mother Base - some woman and her child. He doesn't ask why. V will tell him eventually.

Miller continues to be a source of frustration. Rather than accepting a sleek new set of prosthetics (like V's new hand), he opts for the standard-issue peg leg piece of shit, and forgoes the use of anything for his arm. When asked why, he gives some bullshit answer about "not until Cipher is defeated" and being able to feel pain. He's emotionally unstable, revenge-obsessed, and now (thanks to V and whatever sentiment he has) in command of Mother Base. 

Today, Ocelot watches as Miller makes his way to the landing pad, leaning on his crutch as he takes uneven steps, grimacing at the pain. Well that's what you get for being a fucking martyr.

"This is Pequod, approaching Mother Base," a voice comes over the radio. Good old trusty Pequod. He's one of the best pilots they've got, and the only one trusted to get Snake in and out of tight spots. Ocelot almost doesn't hear V's affirmative over the sound of the approaching helicopter.

The chopper lands, and for a brief instant Miller looks terrified. A woman emerges from the helicopter, a toddler in her arms. If Ocelot had to guess, he'd probably say she's Latina. Somebody from MSF maybe? No. 

"Oh my god! Benny!" she utters. Benny? So she met Miller after MSF fell into the sea. Interesting. Miller approaches her slowly, his empty sleeve flapping in the breeze. The pair's faces run through a full spectrum of emotions before settling on relief. The child wriggles out of her mother's arms and runs up to Miller.  
"Papa!" she shouts. The woman just shrugs as Miller tries not to fall over.  
"She missed you."  
"I missed you both," Miller replies. Why didn't anybody mention Miller had a wife?

Ocelot can't take his eyes off of the small child clinging to Miller's leg. She looks to be about three years old, dark curls covering her head. Miller gets down on one knee - a move that must be excruciating - and wraps his arm around her.  
"Hey baby girl," he says softly. "I missed you."  
"I know my ABCs!" the toddler announces loudly.  
"That's great! Hey, we're gonna go for a walk. You should sing them to me." She promptly complies, loudly and off key.  
"She got your singing voice," the woman informs Miller as he struggles to stand.  
"Good thing she got your looks," Miller offers a faint smile. He nearly falls over, and the woman grabs him until he finds his balance again.

Ocelot doesn't notice Snake standing beside him until the man clears his throat. He hates it when Snake does that.  
"I appreciate you making the arrangements," V says.  
"Sure thing, Boss," Ocelot replies, not taking his eyes off of the reunion playing out on the landing pad. Miller glances over at them, and V nods to him. He turned back to his family and ushers them in the direction of his quarters.  
"My informants failed to mention that Miller had a wife," Ocelot remarks.  
"Hmmm. Is that important?"  
"It might be. What do we know about her?"  
"She's a civilian. They own a burger joint together in LA. Her name is Beatriz." V recites the information with a faint air of amusement.  
"Wait, what?"  
"What?"  
"A burger joint?"  
"Mmhmm. They have a daughter together named Catherine."  
"Hold on. Go back to the burger thing."  
"Hmmm? Don't believe me?"  
"No- I mean..." Snake is messing with him. He's in a rare good mood.  
"You should relax. Go check out some of the new animals on base."  
"Alright, Boss." V loves those animals. John would be asking whether he could eat them. It's those small differences that remind Ocelot who V is not. As silently as he arrived, V leaves. Presumably to go train with the staff.

Ocelot makes his way to the growing zoo on Mother Base - full of animals rescued for an NGO intent on preserving animals from combat zones. V insists the zoo is good for morale, and Ocelot can't argue with that. There are definitely days he prefers the company of animals over people.

Ocelot stops by the pen of one particularly ugly goat. V has taken a liking to it for some reason, naming it "Gerald" and insisting it's smarter than its buck-toothed appearance implies.   
"You've got it easy," he mutters. He receives a vacant look in response. Of course he does. Gerald is just a stupid goat. Why is he talking to a goat?

The sound of tiny footsteps approaching draws him out of his thoughts. It's the girl - Catherine - running towards the goat pen. Surprisingly, it's Pequod who comes trotting after her.  
"Careful, sweetie," he calls out, "Your dad'll be real mad if I let you fall in."  
"Goat!" Catherine announces, pointing to Gerald.  
"Yeah that's a goat," Pequod grins. "His name is Gerald."  
"That's a funny name."  
"Yeah..." But she's not looking at the goat anymore. Now she's staring at Ocelot's boots. She tugs on his pants to get his attention, oblivious to the fact that he's already watching.  
"Are you a cowboy?" she asks.  
"Uhhh... No..." Ocelot mentally kicks himself. "I'm a soldier, just like your daddy," he says.   
"You've got boots like a cowboy."  
"Well, I wear these so I can ride my horse." Her eyes grow wide.  
"You have a horse?"  
"Would you like to meet him?"  
"Can we?" she looks back at Pequod.  
"Sure, sweetie," he nods. She squeals happily and grabs Pequod's hand.  
"Show us!" she says. Ocelot allows himself a small smile as he leads the way to D Horse. Maybe kids aren't so bad after all.

D Horse is pleased with all of the extra attention, not used to being pampered. Pequod picks Catherine up so that she can pet the horse properly. It's a bizarre scene, one far too domestic for Ocelot's taste. 

"Ocelot," Miller's voice cuts through his thoughts. He stands in the doorway, his wife at his side.  
"Oh hey, Commander, ma'am," Pequod pipes up before Ocelot can respond, Catherine wiggling in his arms.  
"Papa! Mama!" she shouts. Pequod sets her down and she runs up to Miller. She takes one look at his left hand, firmly on his crutch, and grabs his empty sleeve to pull him over to the horse. Miller follows as best he can. The woman - Beatriz - pulls Pequod aside and asks him something inaudible. He nods and runs off.  
"Mrs. Miller," Ocelot greets her as neutrally as possible.  
"You're Ocelot," Beatriz responds, significantly less neutral. She glances at her husband and child, making sure they're not paying attention.  
"Yes ma'am."   
"My husband keeps no secrets from me."  
"I don't..."  
"If you harm him again, I will find you and cut your balls off. Is that clear?"  
"Crystal," Ocelot replies. He can appreciate a woman who doesn't take shit from anybody.

“Mama! Come see the horse!” Catherine calls. Beatriz switches gears immediately, an easy smile replacing her deadly glare.   
“Coming, love,” she responds. Ocelot figures it’s time to beat a hasty retreat. Let Miller have his white picket fence Americana moment with his family. He slips out the stable door only to run into V. Snake raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence.  
“Have you seen the new animals?” he asks.  
“Not yet…” Ocelot pauses. “Boss… What did you bring back?” V smiles. That’s not necessarily a good sign.

“Boss,” Miller emerges from the stable with his family.  
“Who’s that?” Catherine asks.  
“This is my boss,” Miller explains. “I work for him.”  
“Is he a pirate?”  
“Sort of,” V answers, and Catherine’s eyes go wide. She runs up to him, heedless of his scarred features. V looks to Beatriz for approval before scooping her up in his arms.  
“Do you like bears?”  
“Yes!”  
“Would you like to see some?”  
“Yes, please!” 

“Bears?” Ocelot can’t believe he’s haring this. Bears. Plural. On Mother Base. Miller looks equally displeased, though he quickly schools his features to nod encouragingly at his daughter.  
“Bears,” he grumbles as soon as V is out of earshot.  
“He thinks they’re good for morale,” Ocelot mutters, for once in agreement with Miller. Miller just shakes his head.  
“At least the payoff is good.” The man is obsessed with finance. Then again, that is his job. They follow after V and Beatriz, more or less in step. Miller’s not such bad company when he’s not talking.

The bears are actually quite impressive.


End file.
